Scarred
by Crinklybrownleaves
Summary: A story set after S4. There's some dark subject matter in this story, but nothing anyone who has watched the show might be surprised at. Starts out T, may be M later.
1. Chapter 1

**A story set sometime after S4. It starts off T, will probably go M later (eek!). At least part of that will be because of some dark subject matter, including mentions of torture, cruelty and death. Mentions only, though. The reason for the rest of the possible M-ness you can probably work out for yourselves.**

 **;)**

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

He found her sitting on the floor in the studio, cross-legged on the rug and poring intently over a book. In the flickering light of the fire he could see her frown slightly as she slowly turned the pages. Her hair was damp and her skin glowed pink from her bath, and she was wearing her new dressing gown, the one she had bought in Adelaide, but hadn't worn much until recently.

Some quiet music he didn't recognise drifted through from the gramophone in the living room. Jean had obviously found some records among her boxes.

"I thought you would've gone to bed," he said, with a hint of a question in his voice. She had spent most of the day with him, moving furniture and sorting through boxes, and he knew she was exhausted. He had seen the lines round her eyes as they had eaten dinner; was it possible to love someone for their wrinkles?

After a day spent making room in his bedroom for Jean and her belongings. Lucien just wanted a whisky and his woman. At least as much of her as she was willing to give him, just yet.

"Soon," she replied, not turning round. "I was just looking at...". She held up the book a little higher, showing him. A large, white, leather bound book, almost certainly a photograph album, and one he had never seen before. In fact, he didn't think he'd ever seen any photos of Jean's family.

He sat on the old couch behind her, and Jean leaned back against him, sitting on the floor between his knees, her arms brushing softly against his legs. Without thinking, he started to stroke her neck, running his fingertips into her hair and gently pressing his thumbs into the muscles below her hairline. A tiny hum made him smile; she was pleased, and that pleased him.

Over her shoulder, Lucien tried to focus on the photos. Formal wedding photos, black and white prints showing elderly people in hats, and younger ones looking uncomfortable in their best clothes. Jean slowly turned the pages, interleaved with embossed waxy sheets of paper to protect the photos.

On the next page there was a picture, slightly out of focus, of a young couple with their wedding cake, and with a jolt he realised the bride was Jean. She looked so young, but so familiar. For a moment his hands were still, and Jean looked round at him and smiled. The same face, but with nearly thirty more years of life written on it.

"You're so lovely," he said softly. She glanced back at the album.

"Everyone is lovely at eighteen, Lucien." She sounded rather wistful.

"Maybe, but you are more lovely now." He kissed her temple, leaning closer and studying the picture. He could smell the freshness of the soap on her skin. "You both looked very happy." Lucien studied Christopher's face curiously. What sort of a man had he been?

In just two weeks time he was going to marry Jean, but he knew almost nothing about her first husband.

Jean sighed. "We were, at least...I was, then. I discovered very quickly that marriage wasn't what I had expected." He didn't respond, and the silence lengthened. Eventually she spoke again, so quietly he had to concentrate to hear her.

"The farm dominated everything, and I quickly fell pregnant, and then I was trapped. Christopher liked a drink...it all seemed like hard work." She stared into the fire, which was collapsing into embers now.

"I can't promise to give up drinking, Jean." He felt a hollow fear just at the thought. Sleep was impossible without whisky.

"Mmm, " she acknowledged his honesty at least. "Too many memories?" Her eyes slid towards his trunk, now tucked away in the bay window. They needed the space in the bedroom. Lucien stiffened at the mere thought of the trunk.

Determined to change the subject, he reached over Jean's shoulder and flipped the pages over till he reached the front of the album. Tucked inside the front cover was an invitation, and he read it slowly, at first silently, then out loud.

"...invite you to the marriage of Jean Randall to Christopher Beazley on Saturday, 14th..." he paused again. "Why didn't I know your maiden name, Jean?" It seemed to him to be strange that he hadn't known, almost as if she were a different person then.

"You've never asked." He stroked the side of her cheek gently and leaned forward more, until he kissed the top of her head.

"Three names in a lifetime. Do you mind changing your name?"

"No," she smiled and turned her head to catch his eye. "I've been Jean Beazley such a long time, I'm sure it will feel strange for a while, but it's time. Our lives will change. Three different lives." Suddenly she snapped the book shut and put it down on the rug.

Before he could react, Jean was sitting on his knees, with her arms around his neck, smiling gently at him. What she saw in his eyes was encouraging; the blue was darkening rapidly and his hold round her waist tightened. She wriggled a little, trying to get comfortable.

She kissed his beard near his ear, testing out the feeling with her lips, soft and prickly at the same time; then curled in towards him, forehead on his shoulder, breathing in his scent from his shirt. Her fingers found the edge of his shirt where it was open at the neck, and with one hand she started to undo more buttons, aware she had never pushed him as far as this before.

She risked a look in his eyes before kissing him on the lips. His eyes were nearly closed and a smile lingered. Jean softly kissed him, a chaste kiss considering that her fingers were exploring his chest under his shirt, and her hip was pressed against his groin.

Lucien deepened the kiss, eyes closed tight now, running the tip of his tongue along her lip, then sucking gently on her lower lip. He wanted to be closer to her than a kiss would allow, and tried pulling her closer on to his chest. His hand slipped under her robe and pyjama top, sliding up towards the curve of her breast. The anticipation of the weight of her breast in his hand made him groan deeply, involuntarily, and he felt Jean smile broadly against his mouth.

She paused for a moment, feeling the pull in her belly. This was a barely remembered pleasure and she wanted to savour it. She played with the curls at the back of his neck and pressed her nose against his collarbone. Lucien heard her sigh, and the first spark of fear flared up in his mind.

The fire in the grate had nearly died out, and Jean shivered a little. She pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders, covering them both. In the warm space between them, she lifted his undershirt, and ran one hand over his belly, over his bare skin that was usually under so many layers of clothes. Lucien tipped her chin towards him and kissed her slowly and longingly, but when her fingers strayed lower, ghosting over his trousers, he grabbed her hand suddenly to stop her, and broke away from their kiss.

Jean rested her head on his shoulder, slightly breathless and a little confused. She could feel his heart beating against her, and knew he wanted her just as much as she wanted him.

He stroked her back soothingly and cleared his throat.

"So that's Jean Blake? Pleased to meet her." His eyes twinkled at her, but she knew he was avoiding something. She continued to hold on to his hand, stroking the back of it with her thumb.

"Time for bed," she replied, and blushed red at how that came across. She kissed his cheek and stood up slowly, folding the blanket. She retied her robe, avoiding Lucien's eye, which she could feel watching her every move in the near darkness.

Upstairs in her own bed, pushing her feet against the hot water bottle, she ran through what had happened. She couldn't work out why he had stopped her. Two weeks to go until their wedding, surely he didn't think she had gone too far? Anyway, she thought they were waiting only because that was what she wanted. She closed her eyes, embarrassed that he might think she was too forward.

She had nothing to compare this with. Not for the first time, she regretted her inexperience, though even that thought seemed ridiculous. How could a woman, married for years and the mother of two children, be naive? But she'd married so young, and...Jean turned over in bed, restlessly pushing away the thoughts of how her marriage had been. It was over, and she had better look forward now, to the next one.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

 **A/N: And, just in case you were wondering (if you've not been on Tumblr recently), Jean's maiden name really is Randall. I didn't make that up. It's official.**


	2. Chapter 2

She heard him before she even entered the studio. The trunk being dragged across the wooden floor set her teeth on edge. Plus, of course, he was probably ruining the parquet. Pursing her lips, ready to give him a scolding, Jean hurried through the door.

At the sight of him with his hand on the trunk's clasp, but motionless, Jean hesitated. Perhaps she should retreat again. After all, it was his floor, his trunk, his memories, at least for a few more days.

He knelt in the pool of light from the fire, sleeves rolled up and tie loosened. She loved everything about him; his looks, his strength, even his weakness, and his soul. She smiled fondly at him.

Lucien turned to look at her, and he had the dead stare of a man who knows he can never unsee the horrors that brought him here. Her heart lurched and her smile faded instantly. She perched on the edge of the couch, just out of reach. A safe distance from the past and all its threats.

"You don't have to do this, you know," she whispered. "The trunk is fine over there. We can just ignore it, or even get rid of it." Her pleading look seemed to bounce off him.

"That's no good. I can't let you marry me like this." She noticed his hands were shaking.

This was frightening talk; he couldn't back out now, not when he'd given her hope again, and the gossip had started to die down. If he sent her away now, after all the business with Mei Lin...

Something in her look of desperation must have reached him.

"It's not fair to let you carry on unless I can explain. I need to tell you why I can't..." At this point he broke off, head in hands, and Jean was suddenly terrified he might start to cry. She had no idea what to say, or even what he was talking about.

So she took the line she used to take with her sons when they came home from school troubled, or when they had had their heart broken by a girl. A hug first, then quiet waiting; waiting for something to spill out. Once started, they usually told her all about it.

She knelt beside him on the rug and put both arms around his neck. Stiff at first, he gradually softened into her arms, breathing in her scent, shampoo and hand cream, a hint of something feminine that he couldn't name. Jean stayed still until she felt him stir, then she sat back on her heels and waited.

"I need to show you some of this," he said, gesturing at the trunk. "It needs sorting out anyway, but I think if you see what is in here you may change your mind about marrying me. I think you'll realise I've deceived you."

Jean sighed quietly. How many more deceptions could there be? There was so much she didn't know: about his time in intelligence, about his life with Mei Lin, about his time in the POW camp. In the end, did any of it matter to her? She loved him as he was, with all his secrets and foibles.

"You don't need to tell me anything. We've already faced the worst thing possible, I think. Nothing you can tell me now would make me not want to marry you." She looked at him tenderly and kissed his cheek.

If anything he seemed to shrink further into himself. He didn't look reassured. Flipping open the clasp, he raised the lid of the trunk and took out the open box that lay on the top. Mostly letters and photos, he didn't waste much time on them. Jean recognised one bundle of letters, all tied together with twine, as being from Mr Kim. Lucien casually tossed the whole bundle on to the fire.

"All they are fit for," he muttered angrily as they blazed up for a moment. "The man was worse than useless." Jean could not disagree, and merely nodded. He rifled through the photos hastily, looking for one in particular. He settled on the photo Jean had found that night she had put him to bed drunk. Him, and Mei Lin and their daughter, all smiling at the camera, unaware of what lay ahead for them in the near future.

He held it out to Jean, and she took it, studying it closely, checking the date on the back. September 1940: a lifetime ago. They were different people then.

"Would you like me to get it framed?" Jean asked.

He nodded uncertainly. "Maybe. If it won't upset you to see it?" The question hovered between them. Jean put the photo aside and turned back to the box. Lucien had pulled out the folder of drawings she had dreaded seeing.

She blushed at the memory of being caught looking at them, and Lucien shot her a quick smile.

"Did you draw them?" she asked, hoping the question would erase the uncomfortable memory of her curiosity. A brief nod, almost curt, followed, but he was leafing through them, lost in a past life.

Jean shuffled closer, settling against his side and leaning in. Frankly, the drawings were sickening: some obviously dead bodies rotting at the side of a road, some painfully thin men wielding picks and shovels, some lying on mats on the floor - it was unclear if they were alive or dead. No such doubts about the next drawing: three heads on spikes at the gates of the camp.

She tried not to gasp in shock, as she glanced sideways at Lucien. He seemed to be lingering over one in particular. It was a drawing of a man being beaten by two guards, while he held a huge rock above his head. He was on his knees, and blood ran down his back.

"The rock?" she asked, uncertainly.

He shrugged. "It just made it more humiliating, I suppose. If you dropped the rock they just kicked you until you lifted it up again."

"Did that happen to you?" She had to know for certain.

He grimaced. "Many times. I have the scars to show for it. A lot of scars." Jean took the folder of drawings from him and put it back in the box.

"Enough. You don't need to show me any more." She couldn't bear any more.

"I think you should see my scars though. I don't want you to be shocked on our wedding night." He attempted to laugh, but it fell rather flat.

"If that's what you want," Jean replied. She didn't see what difference it made, now or then, but if that was what he wanted, then fine.

He was already pulling off his tie, and she started to unbutton his waistcoat. It suddenly dawned on her that this was the reason he always wore a suit. It was his armour against the world's arrows, protecting him from looks and comments, even people's laughter behind their hands.

His shirt was off in a moment, but he hesitated at the singlet. Jean could already see scars on his upper arms, and just above the neck of his vest. Darker stripes of skin, as wide as a pencil, ridged and jagged.

Taking a deep breath and trying not to let anything show on her face, Jean tugged the vest out from his trousers and lifted it up and away from his back in one go. For a moment she was reminded of undressing a child, the way they lifted their arms automatically to help her. Lucien did the same, but instead of the soft, pale skin of a child, she saw a mess of twisted scars, some raised and angry looking, others faded and brown.

For a moment she was motionless, the singlet still in her raised hands, then she reached out and lightly touched his back, running a fingertip along a long straight scar, seeing in her mind's eye the thin stick that had left this mark.

She kissed a rough, raised scar on his side, then leaned her forehead against his back, steadying herself. She felt him sob before she heard it. "I'm so sorry," she murmured against his skin, and the heat of her breath was comforting.

Putting her hands on his shoulders, she squeezed and stroked the muscles there, alternating between resting her cheek on his back, and kissing each scar in turn.

Slowly his sobs subsided and he ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand up on end. He reached up for her hand on his shoulder and held her fingers, eventually turning round to face her. He wrapped his arms around her, his chin on the top of her head, and just held her.

"I never thought I'd ever meet another woman I wanted to be with. I didn't think it would matter. I'm sorry." He sounded calmer but Jean still didn't understand. Did he honestly think she would mind about his scars? She smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring way, and kissed him on the lips.

Gradually she drew him in. She kissed his neck, kneeling between his parted legs, and he slid his hands slowly down to her bottom. When she didn't object, he squeezed gently and moved his hands round to hold her hips, pulling her closer still.

Managing to kiss her hair and cheek as she moved against his neck, he nearly missed what she said.

"None of this matters, Lucien. I don't mind how your scars look. They're part of you." She kissed a scar on his chest that had been roughly stitched. Each stitch was still raised and visible. She supposed he couldn't stitch his own wounds, or it would have been better done.

He sighed. They had come this far, and he couldn't back out now. He pulled away from her, and set her back on her heels.

"There are more," he said, "and some of them are in my mind, not on my body."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 **I had to do some research for this chapter, and discovered there are many hundreds of drawings made by POWs in the Far East. Some of them were too horrible to describe here. My advice is: don't go and look. But I can't see how anyone would survive that wartime experience unscathed, physically or mentally.**


	3. Chapter 3

Lucien returned after a few minutes, striding into the studio, feigning an air of confidence he didn't feel. In one hand he gripped the necks of two bottles: whisky and sherry. In the other he held two glasses, which clinked together encouragingly.

Setting them down on the table, he added wood to the fire and stirred it with the poker. Sparks shot up the chimney and for a moment the room lit up, before the half darkness fell again.

Jean took in at a glance that he was wearing pyjamas and his dressing gown. She now felt overdressed in her day dress, and rather wondered where all this was going. He'd disappeared hurriedly and she wasn't sure what he intended next. She swallowed the first glass of sherry in one go, and held out her glass for a refill.

Lucien grinned as he topped it up, and then made short work of his own drink.

"Dutch courage," he murmured.

"Do you need it?" she asked. "It's only me, Lucien." He settled against her on the couch and took another mouthful of whisky. He slid his arm around her shoulders and closed his eyes. This might be easier if he couldn't see her reaction.

"The beatings became almost normal after a while," he began, "but then it went beyond just beating. They found a wireless, and they wanted to know what we'd listened to. It got nasty, and the man who owned the wireless set was killed. Maybe he was the lucky one."

He finished his drink and risked a glimpse at the distress on Jean's face. She buried her face against his arm, one steadying hand on his chest. He'd better get this over with quickly, he thought.

"So, anyway, if you are going to torture someone, the genitals are an obvious place to start." He paused, letting that sink in. "As much as the pain, it's the humiliation, the loss of control..." Lucien

descended into a world he hoped she would never really understand. He opened his eyes but stared, without seeing, into the fire.

"And since then, I've never been able to cope with anyone touching me there, intimately, you know?" He pulled her closer for a moment. "I want you so much, Jean, but I don't know if I'll be able to love you properly."

Jean nodded. She could feel tears in her eyes and an ache in her throat, but she couldn't let herself cry. She wrapped both arms around his chest and squeezed. Perhaps if she held him really close it would be better. He kissed the top of her head.

There was a pause while they each considered what this meant for them; the prospects looked bleak.

"So, since the war, you've never...?" Jean wished she could ask this without blushing.

Blake barked out a humourless laugh. "It depends what you're hoping for. The equipment all works fine when I'm flying solo." Jean raised her eyebrows at him and he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Not long after the war I had a disastrous time with a woman in Malaya. It was always doomed from the start, really. She was the widow of an officer I knew in the camp. She was grieving, and I was just beginning to realise Mei Lin was probably dead - it wasn't a good idea at all. As soon as she touched me, I panicked. She was hurt...and I just got up and walked away."

Jean was at a loss to know what to say. This was beyond her limited experience.

"And is that it?" She had always assumed he was much more experienced than she was. She might have to think again about that.

"A few years later...well, really it was much the same again. I'd had a few drinks that time. Hoped it might make a difference, but it didn't." For the first time he looked Jean right in the eye. "She laughed at me, and that settled it for me. Since then, I've taken a few women out to dinner, I've enjoyed their company, but I had accepted I'd never sleep with a woman again."

She kissed his cheek, and they sat leaning together for a minute or two.

Taking his hand and holding it in her lap, Jean eventually spoke.

"Why did you ask me to marry you, then?" He wasn't a cruel man, and she couldn't understand why he would lead her on like that.

Lucien held her hand a little more tightly. "Jean, I love you more than I've ever loved anyone, and I trust you. We've been friends a long time, and I know you wouldn't hurt me. My head knows that, and I've been hoping my body would just follow along." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it gently.

"But I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. I hoped it would all just work out fine. I still think it might, one day, but I can't promise you that for certain."

She looked so disappointed he had to smile at the expression on her face. He hadn't realised quite how much she had pinned on this.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I can still make sure you enjoy yourself. There are other ways, you know?"

Jean looked alarmed at this, and for the first time it occurred to him that maybe she didn't know what he meant. Was that possible? Not for the first time, he wished he knew more about Christopher Beazley.

"What about Joy?" Jean asked quietly. "Didn't you love her?"

Lucien looked at her in amazement. Did she really think he had felt the same about Joy as he did about her? He traced a line with his fingers down her cheek, ending up with his hand moving through her hair affectionately.

"Jean... no, I didn't love Joy. There's no comparison. I was fond of her, and she made it clear what she wanted. But I couldn't possibly have had this conversation with Joy. She wouldn't have taken it well, I think."

Jean bristled at that. "But you think I won't mind? Lucien, I've been on my own since Christopher died. I did have some hopes too."

"And we'll get there," he attempted to reassure her. "With a bit of patience, I'm sure we will."


	4. Chapter 4

Lucien lay sleepless in the dark. He loathed self pity, but settled instead for self recrimination. He should never have let himself fall in love with Jean, and it would have been better for her if he had let her leave when she applied for the job at the Royal Cross, or even when she went to Adelaide. What had made him think he could ruin her life like this? He'd even encouraged her, tried to persuade her to consider a relationship with him.

He knew she wouldn't change her mind about marrying him, she wasn't that sort of woman, but surely this was going to come between them now forever. This was the secret he had waited too long to tell her, in the hope it might just go away. How stupid he had been. He turned over in frustration.

Although he was convinced he would not sleep, he awoke some time later, bleary-eyed, to see Jean standing at the end of the bed, her chin stuck out in a defiant gesture he loved her for.

"Jean..?" he mumbled. "Did I wake you?" He started to turn over and sit up, to look for his watch on the bedside table.

She shook her head and walked round to the far side of the bed.

"No. It's just after midnight. I couldn't sleep." She noticed his hair standing up in messy tufts on the top of his head. He must have been restless too.

He smiled at her. She sounded a little how he remembered his daughter sounding, coming into the bedroom in the darkness to announce she wasn't tired. He had always indulged Li, much to Mei Lin's annoyance.

"Are you hoping for a story, or a glass of water?" he asked, fully awake now and his eye catching hers.

Jean laughed softly, understanding.

"Maybe a cuddle would help." She put her fingers to her mouth, regretting how bold she sounded already. She could hardly believe she had just invited herself into his bed, especially after the events of the evening just past.

Lucien flipped back the covers on her side of the bed and lay down again, watching her, still trying to gauge her mood. She took off her dressing gown and climbed in, and for the first time he noticed she wasn't wearing pyjamas, but a nightdress, in a pale colour he couldn't identify in the darkness.

An edging of lace ran across the top of her breasts, drawing his eyes in, and the silky material covered just enough to be tantalising.

"Is the nightdress new?" he asked, as she shuffled nearer to him. Her hair was loose, and fell around her face.

"It was meant for our honeymoon, but I wondered if we needed a practice run. Just to take the pressure off a bit." Jean's voice sounded uncertain, and he wished he could see her expression more clearly.

"I see," he said, though he wasn't sure he did. "What exactly will we be practising?"

She didn't reply directly, but instead rolled against him, ending with her head on his chest and one leg resting on his. She breathed deliberately slowly, taking in the scent of his skin, trying to calm her heartbeat. Nearly twenty years since she had shared a man's bed, and she felt ridiculously teenaged - excited, a little bit nervous, unsure what to expect.

Lucien put his arm around her and began tracing slow circles on her back, waiting for her to take the lead. His fingertips burning on her skin gradually became all she could think about, and slowly her worries receded. Unconsciously, she started to stroke his chest, her fingers parting the blond hairs there. She unbuttoned his pyjama top and kissed his bare skin.

She couldn't help comparing him to Christopher; he smelled different, better if she were honest, though she couldn't have described how, and his chest was smoother and broader. She was finding this new experience rather more overwhelming than she had expected.

She'd thought a bit more intimacy between them might make Lucien more comfortable, but she hadn't taken account of how she might feel.

She propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at him, a little smile playing on her lips now. She ran her fingers through his hair, messing it up even more. She kissed him gently, then more deeply, and his hands started to move over her more quickly. When he tried to lift up the hem of her nightdress, she stopped him however.

"That's not what we're practising, Lucien. Not tonight, anyway." But she looked at him lovingly and he resolved to be patient, and see what she intended.

Jean put her hand very deliberately into his.

"Now, you need to show me how to touch you so I don't hurt you or upset you."

He stared at her for a moment.

"I'm not sure it's that simple, Jean."

"Well, maybe not, but let's try, shall we?" She was only too aware she was beginning to sound rather bossy.

Keeping hold of her hand, Lucien brushed his hand over his belly, pausing to look at her. Then he moved lower, under his pyjama trousers, and Jean's smile turned to a cheeky grin.

"Hmm, that seems to be in order," she teased him. Then she glanced up at him and her face fell. His face was screwed up in a grimace and he had turned it away from her.

"Lucien, it's me. Open your eyes and look at me." She kissed his cheek and waited.

Soon he opened his eyes a crack and looked towards her, trying to catch her gaze in the near darkness.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked quietly.

"No, it didn't hurt." But the memories were starting to intrude, and he didn't know how to make them back off.

"Then keep your eyes open," Jean replied, "and I'll stop whenever you want me to." She gently tried again, holding his gaze the whole time.

"I'm never going to hurt you," she murmured. After a minute or two he took his hand away from hers, beginning to move his hands over her back and down to her bottom, shifting her closer to him.

Jean began to relax, just a little, and her fingers gently explored.

"At least you didn't laugh at me," he murmured against her ear. He was sure she could see all his doubts and insecurities.

"Why would I?" she asked, not expecting an answer. "I think we'll be fine, given a bit of time."

Lucien heard her voice, but his mind was more occupied with her hand stroking him slowly, and the feeling of her inner thigh moving against his leg. Her nightdress had ridden up to her hips and he slid his hand between her legs, desperate to touch her, and all thoughts of patience gone.

She flinched away from him, surprised. He backed off a little at that but continued kissing and sucking at the skin on her collarbone.

"Perhaps we need some more practice," he suggested, groaning as he hugged her and worked his kisses up her neck rather enthusiastically.

Jean realised they were quickly reaching the point of no return.

"I should go back to my own bed," Jean whispered. "I don't want Charlie to hear us."

Lucien sighed deeply but loosened his hold on her.

"Stay here. Just sleep here with me. That way I can enjoy wanting you, at least."

Jean gave him a curious look, but he was right, she had to admit, there was pleasure in the anticipation. She turned lazily away from him, then snuggled back against him, feeling his erection pressing against her bottom. Lucien curved himself around her back, kissing the back of her shoulder softly, letting his mind drift until eventually he slept.

Jean lay awake for some time, thinking about what had just happened, and wondering what she had got herself into.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 **The next chapter will be M, so you will have to change your filters to find it, or you could follow the story so you get a notification when it is updated. It will probably be posted in a day or two (when I've plucked up the courage!)**

 **Thanks for the reviews - they mean a lot.**


	5. Chapter 5

Jean spent much of the night wondering if what she wanted was wrong. She supposed it was really, that was what she had been taught, but the yearning she felt was stronger than the calling of her conscience. They would be married in just a few days; what difference could it make now?

She lay in the warmth of Lucien's body and knew she was lost. He was sleeping calmly for now, and she enjoyed listening to him breathe. She wondered if he were dreaming, and hoped he wasn't. His dreams tended to end badly.

Later she dozed and woke several times, not sure of the time, but eventually she roused just as dawn broke, her mind made up. She slipped out of bed and to the bathroom, hoping Charlie was sound asleep. The hall was chilly and once back in bed she pressed back into Lucien's warm arms.

Lucien slept more soundly than he had for months. Jean always seemed to calm him. In the daytime he looked to her for common sense and steadiness. He now knew the difference her steadiness made to his nights too.

He awoke to feel Jean insinuating herself against him. She was curled up, knees drawn up, and her silk-covered bottom was moving very deliberately against him.

He kissed the back of her shoulder softly, and ran his fingers through her hair, gently teasing it out. Jean made a contented hum and moved her head on the pillow, exposing her neck to him, inviting him to kiss her there. He obliged, with a grin she couldn't see. His confidence was returning.

His hand seemed to move to the back of her leg without him even thinking about it, stroking her thighs and grazing over the curls between her legs.

He moved slowly, waiting for her response, and then once he heard her sigh, and then groan softly, he stroked between her folds, spreading the warm wetness he found there. His fingers searched gently until he found the spot that made her gasp, a sound she tried to swallow.

Lucien smiled to himself and circled slowly with his fingertips, nipping and kissing the skin on the back of her neck. Jean moved her legs a little to give him more room, and reached behind her for him, frustrated that she couldn't caress him in return. She grasped his hip, trying to pull him closer, and she wondered fleetingly if he was struggling with this close contact between them.

Suddenly she turned over and eased him onto his back. Before he knew it, she was straddling him, sitting on his thighs, smiling at him in delight, and trailing her fingers down his chest. There was a long moment while they considered the possibilities. Then Jean bent forward and kissed him, trapping his erection against her.

"Does that bother you?" she asked, though the look of excitement in his eyes held the answer already.

"No. Maybe hands would be too much, but no, Jean, it all feels...marvellous." He laughed, exhilarated, and she could hardly ever remember hearing him laugh.

Then, more seriously, he asked in return, "Is this what you want? Now? We can wait if you want, you know?" He meant it, but his heart was racing at the prospect of having her, finally, all of her.

He watched her bite her lower lip for a moment and she looked down, away from his gaze.

"I'm sure." She took his hand in hers and knelt up, intending to guide him in with their hands together, but he stopped her.

"Not so fast..." He looked at her curiously. Why the hurry? Jean Beazley was full of surprises, and there was something here he didn't understand yet.

He lifted her and set her down on her back next to him, and before she could react to this, he was lying half over her, kissing her neck and down towards her breasts, while his hand was easing her legs apart. His mouth settled on one nipple, tugging on it gently through the silk and lace, then on to the other, until she was arching towards him eagerly.

As the daylight grew stronger, he wanted to see all of her, despite the chill. So, lifting the covers away, he then pulled off the nightdress over her head. She sat up for a moment to let him undress her, then tugged at his pyjamas till he took them off too.

There were more scars on his legs, and she started to understand why he needed to feel strong and stay fit. He might see the marks as weakness, but he had survived sheer horror, and she loved him for it.

Sitting in the middle of the bed, she rested her hands on his thighs, feeling the muscle under the skin, and stroking with her thumbs. Then he held her cheek with his hand, in the gesture he used so often, but this time she turned her head and kissed his hand. He moved his fingers down her side and held the curve of her breast in the same way, then lowered her back onto the bed.

Lucien's lips kissed and nipped at the skin on her chest and belly, and his fingers dipped into her warmth, while his thumb stroked her gently, then firmly. Her eyes flew open at the sudden intimacy, and for an instant, Jean thought of Christopher, who just took what he wanted and never had the generosity to share this. Then she pushed the bitterness and regret away, and all conscious thought was gone.

Lucien slowly, tantalisingly slowly, led her, climbing upwards, until she couldn't stay silent any longer. A yearning for him pooled in her belly. She breathed out his name in wonder, head back and eyes open but unseeing now. She wanted to tell him this was new, this trembling joy, but she couldn't find any words.

But looking into her eyes, as his fingers moved inside her and over her, he knew anyway, and for a moment he despised Christopher for denying her this. As she shuddered against his hand and cried out, flooded with warmth and power, and with all her usual restraint gone, he was glad; this would always be his now, and he would never tire of watching her.

Grinning down at her, he waited till she focused again and reached out for him.

"Lucien..." she murmured breathlessly, eyes half closed and her body languid. She supposed he was going to be very smug now and she laughed at the thought.

She wrapped both arms around the back of his neck and hung on, reluctant to let him go just yet. Lucien set his hands on her thighs, moving between her legs.

Despite his near desperation to be inside her now, he continued to stroke with his fingers, till she opened her eyes and nodded her agreement, then he slid in so slowly, mustering all the control he could.

This felt as natural as coming home, while also being dangerously, overwhelmingly exciting. He let out a sob and held still, his head on Jean's shoulder, fighting to slow his heart.

For Jean, still tingling and relaxed, there was the shock of sudden fullness, on the edge of painful, and so unfamiliar. In her mind the same thoughts kept reappearing: we've waited so long... and then, at last, after all that's happened...we're really here.

As Lucien moved above her and in her, she clung on, gripping his shoulders, feeling the scars and the sweat, and she found words now, telling him she loved him, whispering in his ear, urging him on. And then she felt him groan her name and cry out, collapsing on her for a moment, pushing deeper still as he came.

For a moment they were both quite still, but then as Lucien rolled away, she saw tears on his cheek and wiped them away with her thumb. Would this be where they both found healing, in time?

"Daft man." She frowned at him, still holding on to his shoulder, and she kissed his wet cheek.


	6. Chapter 6

Lucien lay back heavily. He reached out to hold her hand, then kissed the back of it. Neither of them spoke for a while. Finally, he turned back towards her, looking contrite, and she guessed what was bothering him.

"I'm sorry, Jean, I meant to pull out at the end. We've never talked about children, but it's been so long, nearly twenty years, and I just couldn't stop. I'm sorry." He looked so worried, she had to smile.

"It's just as well I saw Dr King about a diaphragm then, isn't it?" She asked. "A few weeks ago now. Just in case." She looked rather pleased with her forward planning, even to the extent of going to find it in the middle of the night, but Lucien looked a bit downcast.

"Is that what you want, Jean? It's up to you of course." But a part of him hoped for a child like Jean one day, a child he could actually bring up this time, who would help him to forget the past and all its failures.

"I don't know. We've not discussed it, so how can I know? But this seemed sensible in the meantime." She sounded a touch irritated now.

In Jean's mind they would work together, travel more, maybe even visit Europe. Would all that be possible with children? And would she feel trapped again, as she had the first time round?

But also, at the edge of her thoughts, there was an image of a baby like Lucien. Something in her ached for that, but would it even be a consideration at her age? She sighed.

"My ever-sensible Jean. You're right, of course." He smiled at her and kissed her lingeringly. They would work it out somehow, in time.

"Now, do you think Charlie heard us, or are we going to have to pretend that we've done no more than hold hands, for the next week or so?" He glanced sideways at her, holding back the chuckle until he saw she wasn't cross with him.

"If I don't get up and make breakfast soon, he's going to be in no doubt at all." she replied, but she showed no sign of moving away from Lucien's arms anytime soon.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jean walked into the kitchen, smoothing down the dress she had hastily put on. She snatched her apron from its hook and did it up, wishing Charlie a good morning, and perhaps avoiding his eye. Charlie made an effort not to smile too much at this. Where she spent her nights was none of his business.

"Don't worry about breakfast for me, Mrs Beazley," he said. "I'm just having some toast. Got to be in work early this morning." He gestured at the toast in his hand, swallowed the tea he had made himself, and was on his way before Jean could respond.

Now there was no reason to rush, Jean poured herself a cup of tea from Charlie's pot, and looked in the refrigerator for the bacon.

By the time Lucien appeared, his breakfast was ready.

"Good morning, Jean," he greeted her, as if they hadn't been in bed together just minutes earlier. She laughed as she put the plate of bacon and eggs in front of him.

"You don't have to keep up the act for Charlie's sake. He's already gone, and I think he's guessed anyway." Jean sat down to eat her own breakfast.

For the first time, Lucien wondered whether Charlie would stay once they were married. He even admitted to himself that he might like having the house just to the two of them. Just as he was about to ask Jean what she thought about this, she spoke.

"I'm not sure if he'll stay either, Lucien, but I won't have him feel uncomfortable in his own home. We'll have to be careful not to embarrass him." Lucien's mouth fell open a little. How did this woman always seem to know what he was thinking?

"So, we're saving on the kitchen table, or up against the refrigerator, for when he's at work then?"

Jean looked outraged for a moment, but then laughed and flicked him with the tea towel. "Dr Blake, behave yourself!" She started clearing the table and piling the dishes in the sink to cover her embarrassment. She washed up as usual, trying to make this new situation feel normal.

Once she heard Lucien walking away towards the surgery, she turned back from the sink, and sighed, relaxing for the first time that morning. The thought crossed her mind that this marriage was going to be far more complicated than she had imagined, and that they had only just started learning each other.

And then her eyes fell on the refrigerator, and she smiled.

xxxxxxxxxxxx


End file.
